


Acupuncture

by AeroplanesR0ck



Series: Hold and Release [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Developing Relationship, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Past Rape/Non-con, Phone Sex, Rape Recovery, Slice of Life, Trans Character, Trans Sherlock, Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-19
Updated: 2017-12-03
Packaged: 2019-02-04 08:04:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 4,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12766656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AeroplanesR0ck/pseuds/AeroplanesR0ck
Summary: Little snippets of John and Sherlock's journey as they work their way around the world and through the obstacle course of their new relationship. There's all kinds of complications, but ultimately there is nothing simpler than knowing that as long as they're together, they're exactly where they're meant to be.





	1. Cities and Kisses

**Author's Note:**

> So this is likely to be the final instalment in this series, and hopefully will be about the same length of shorter than the previous two. I actually considered leaving things how I ended it in the last fic, with a good bit of hope and a reasonably clear path home. Still, there was more I wanted to say, and people seemed to want or expect more. I don't really see this as a coherent story the way the previous two fics sort of were. This is more of a filling in the gaps. It'll be in chronological order, but there'll be lots of skipping ahead, and I won't cover everything, just what I think I have something to say about.

Months passed in a blur of cities and kisses. John found himself marking the days by the latter rather than the former. He’d recall the days by these precious, scattered events- The day Sherlock kissed him to shut him up when he’d been laughing about the sight of Sherlock on a bicycle; the kiss bestowed upon him as they cuddled in bed, John telling embellished stories of their supposedly haunted hotel while Sherlock laughed and scoffed; the kiss presented together with a mug of hot chocolate as John nursed his bruised ego after a miserable failure on one of Vermont’s ski slopes. 

Sherlock kissed with careful deliberation, each one seeming meticulously premeditated and decided upon. John never initiated, but never refused; he quickly learned to recognise the look Sherlock got in his eyes when he was just about to kiss him, and John would smile and wait, head tipped back and lips parted slightly in eager anticipation of Sherlock’s own. Sherlock was quite pleased with this arrangement, though he never said anything about it. He felt a bit like he was wooing John, and though John made it quite clear that was hardly necessary, Sherlock liked it all the same. John deserved wooing, and it was likely no one else had ever bothered before. 

Sherlock’s kisses never progressed beyond a simple press of lips. Often he would linger, wrapping his arms around John, cradling John’s head in his large hands as he rested his forehead against John’s, feeling the puff of John’s breath against his lips. Each time he considered taking it further he recalled damp and bristly lips and and aggressive, invasive tongue. The sheer disgust the memory elicited kept him from even trying. 

John showed no sign of impatience with this glacial pace, except for those mornings Sherlock woke up alone in bed to the sounds of John pleasuring himself in the shower. John would return to bed after, flushed and sated, and Sherlock would hide his burning cheeks in the pillows and pretend to be asleep, frustrated and embarrassed by his own inability to provide.

It took them two months and one hundred and thirty-seven kisses to decide they’d had enough of North America. Sherlock had equally had enough of pretending that John didn’t require sexual satisfaction, and so on their first morning in Mexico City, Sherlock made his move. 

John in the early morning was a wonder to behold, soft and sleepy against Sherlock’s side, every part of him limp and relaxed- well, almost every part. Sherlock held John close to him, pressing kisses to his cheeks and nose. John blinked awake, smiling hazily at Sherlock.

“Morning, love.” He whispered.

Sherlock kissed him, number one hundred and thirty-eight. His hand crept up John’s thigh, gentle and deliberate. His fingers traced the outline of John’s cock through the loose material of his pyjamas, and watching John’s face, Sherlock could tell the exact moment John woke up properly.


	2. Skipping Steps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John checks in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a teensy bit longer than my usual. There was just no good place to end it. And this chapter came out really quickly, if not as perfectly or as smoothly as I might like.

John’s eyes widened, and his hand closed sharply around Sherlock’s wrist before abruptly loosening, fingers slipping down until he was only holding Sherlock’s hand, though no less preventing it from continuing on its planned course. 

Sherlock huffed, somewhat put out, but he tangled his fingers with John’s, leaning in to brush his lips against the tip of John’s nose. He had anticipated that John might have concerns, but he’d hoped that by catching him in the early mornings, he might stave of that conversation until he’d sufficiently proved his capabilities. It should have worked. For an army man, John was remarkably partial to his lie-ins. Then again, his fondness for sleep paled in comparison to his love for Sherlock- something Sherlock both marvelled at on a daily basis and frequently forgot to factor into his calculations. 

“Starting without me?” John murmured. “I’d hate to miss this, you know.” Sherlock felt an anxiety he hadn’t even known was rising begin to subside. Lovely John, beginning by casually reassuring Sherlock that he wasn’t rejecting him before he began the inevitable concerned questioning. Sherlock doubted anyone less details-oriented than he was would have noticed that. Probably John didn’t even consciously realise it. Sherlock carefully filed away the snippet of memory in his extensive library of the many ways John Watson was utterly perfect. 

“Well, since you’re awake now…” Sherlock said leadingly, but John did not release his hand.

John smiled, eyes as soft as butter left out on a warm day. “How long have you been planning this?”

Damn the man. Damn him and his gorgeous, fascinating dual nature. John trusted Sherlock absolutely, Sherlock knew he did, and yet Sherlock was utterly incapable of dissembling with him. It was nothing about John knowing Sherlock’s mannerisms, or whether he had any kind of ‘tell’. John simply knew Sherlock, he understood the core of him like he’d been raised to know nothing else, and now that there were no secrets between them, John anticipated him perfectly. 

“Few days.” Sherlock admitted. It didn’t seem like much, but for Sherlock, who made decisions like ‘Should I invite this man I’ve never met to be my flatmate?’ in split seconds, it was almost embarrassingly indecisive.

Of course, John picked up on that easily. He squeezed Sherlock’s hand reassuringly. “What’s got you thinking so hard?”

Sherlock chewed pensively on his lower lip. “It’s not quite in order.” He said eventually. “We haven’t even kissed properly yet-”

“What do you mean?” John interrupted. “We’ve kissed hundreds of times.”

“A hundred and thirty-eight.” Sherlock corrected, and John grinned.

“Of course you’ve been counting.” He said fondly. “Alright, not hundreds, but close. My point, anyway, is that we’ve had many kisses, all of which have been wonderful, by the way.”

Sherlock scowled. John was being deliberately obtuse. “I meant- I believe the popular term is ‘snogging’, or in the American colloquialism, since we were just there, ‘making out’ .” Sherlock continued talking quickly, before John could say anything. “Which is not something I’m particularly keen on, and I eventually decided I’d rather move on than get stuck on step two.”

“You’re right. There’s no twelve-step programme, we don’t have to do everything ‘in order’. We don’t have to do everything at all, just what you feel you want to and are comfortable with.” John said firmly.

“Good.” Sherlock said distractedly. John had said something along this line a few times already, in the weeks past. “Can I touch you now?”

John released Sherlock’s hand and rolled onto his back, stretching with a jaw-cracking yawn, back to his fuzzy, sleepy morning self now that he’d satisfied himself as to Sherlock’s well-being. “Mmhmm. ‘M all yours.”


	3. First Touch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock gives John a handy, and that's all there is to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Schmoop and nothing else. Was tempted to add angst but I couldn't bear it.

Sherlock undressed John, taking his time about it, long fingers stroking over each bit of golden skin as it was revealed. This wasn’t his first time seeing John naked. There had been plenty of accidental glimpses over the years of cohabitation. There had also been less accidental glimpses for a few weeks now. The first time had been an accident, Sherlock walking in John while John had been changing. Sherlock had nearly dropped his cup of coffee, too surprised and aroused to even attempt to tear his eyes away. John had seemed quite pleased by Sherlock’s reaction, and since then, John had been much less shy about changing in front of Sherlock, or even just hanging about in their room in just his pants. 

Sherlock closed his hand around John’s cock, watching John’s face intently as he did so. John looked back at Sherlock through lidded eyes, a soft smile playing about his lips. Sherlock slowly started to stroke him, adjusting his grip and changing the pressure according to the feedback from John’s expression. 

Sherlock suspected the dry friction was starting to burn, and in the absence of any lubrication, he spat into his hand and tried again. It seemed somewhat disgusting, but judging from John’s low groan, he didn’t seem to mind.

It was a heady feeling, this simple act; watching John’s face, and knowing he was the one bringing John this pleasure. Sherlock stroked his free hand through John’s hair, trailing his fingers over his bristly cheek. 

“I love you.” He murmured, gazing intently into John’s eyes. “I adore you. There is nothing that brings me greater joy than being here with you.”

John’s mouth fell open, but no words came out, only breathy, half-voiced pants. His eyes were fixed on Sherlock’s face, watching him with an awestruck expression. He thrust up into Sherlock’s fist, and Sherlock stroked him faster, eagerly pushing him closer to orgasm. Sherlock’s own heart was pounding, breathless and dizzy with anticipation. 

John’s eyes glazed over as he jerked and shuddered, his cock hot and pulsing in Sherlock’s hand as he came, spurting over Sherlock’s hand and the rumpled white sheets. Sherlock stroked him through it, only stopping when John began to wince with oversensitivity.

John took several moments to catch his breath as Sherlock wiped them both off with the sheet. Then he pulled Sherlock close to him, wrapping his arms around him like an exceedingly handsome and cuddly octopus. 

“That was amazing.” John sighed against Sherlock’s chest. “God, I love you.” He smiled up at Sherlock, sleepy and sated. He put a hand on Sherlock’s thigh. “Want me to…?”

Sherlock hesitated. “No.” He eyed John nervously, wondering if he would try to insist on being a gentleman. 

To his relief, John only smiled and nodded. “All right. That’s fine.” 

Sherlock pulled the duvet over them, resting his cheek on John’s head. John was already slipping back into sleep, and Sherlock closed his eyes, perfectly happy to follow John’s lead.


	4. Stops and Starts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock attempts to have a wank.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter today is longer than usual. Only Sherlock would manage to have so many thinkies over a wank, haha

Sherlock was pleased to have so smoothly gotten over the hump that was interacting directly with John’s cock. Unfortunately, this did not mean that the rest of their sexual life immediately fell into line. He was somewhat apprehensive about John touching him in return, and while John showed no impatience, Sherlock himself was fairly aching with desire. Each time he finished John he felt his own genitals throbbing in sympathy, and yet, each time John offered to return the favour, Sherlock turned him down. He had no idea how he’d react to John touching him there; he himself only did so to clean himself. Sherlock supposed he ought to rectify that, before starting anything with John. While he hated that he was keeping John waiting, he was wary of the possibility that he might start something that he would not be able to finish, leaving John hanging halfway through. Of course, John would be as wonderfully patient about it as he had been about everything else, but that was the point; Sherlock didn’t want him to have to be; so Sherlock had to be sure of himself before he let John touch him.

“I think I’ll stay in today.” Sherlock told John one morning. It was almost Spring now, and they’d been back in Europe for almost a week. “You should go, though. See that archaeological museum you were interested. I’m not so keen.”

“You’ll stay in?” John echoed curiously. “And do what?”

“Relax. Enjoy a little privacy.” Sherlock’s attempt at discretion was utterly ruined by the bright red flush that suffused his face. “I mean, we’ve been attached at the hip for months now. Some alone time would be good. Healthy, even. Or so I’ve heard.”

Sherlock’s babbled attempt at a save did nothing to wipe away the knowing look that crossed John’s face. “All right, love. You stay in and relax. Call if you need anything.” John kissed Sherlock’s cheek and continued packing his day bag, leaving with a cheery ‘See you tonight, Sherlock!’

With the hotel room to himself, Sherlock set out the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign and then undressed and lay back against the cheerful blue sheets. He spread his legs, shivering as the cool air of the room touched his heated genitals. Putting a hand between his legs, he stroked a finger through the soft folds, rubbing his thumb over his tiny cock. The sensation was vaguely pleasurable, but it was overshadowed by the same sense of queasy discomfort that he’d always had when he’d tried touching himself as a teenager. Under his own fingers he was soft and slick and wet, and felt all wrong. It wasn’t so bad as to be upsetting, but it was certainly distracting enough that Sherlock couldn’t focus on the pleasure of his own touch. Huffing in irritation, Sherlock got up and went to the bathroom to wash his hands, then got dressed. Perhaps this would work better with the aid of some of the associated paraphernalia. 

Forty-five minutes later he was back in the hotel room with a small bullet vibrator that he’d been assured would ‘drive him wild’. Getting naked once again, he turned the device on and held it against his cock. 

The second attempt went much better than the first. He didn’t have to touch himself directly, and even at a low setting the vibrator made him limp with pleasure, panting heavily as he felt his orgasm building. Just as he reached his peak, a wild panic overwhelmed him, and he ripped the vibrator away, gasping as he tried to figure out where that sudden spike of unbridled terror had come from. 

This was Magnussen’s fault, he determined once he calmed down, and the thought made him absolutely furious. He refused to allow the vile man to continue ruining him from beyond the grave.

Sherlock called for a bottle of wine, and after a couple of glasses, feeling more relaxed, he determinedly grabbed his phone and the vibrator and laid back down on the bed. Obviously, if he was to get himself all the way to an orgasm, he was going to need a distraction. Luckily, he had the perfect distraction just a phone call away.

Sherlock spent a few minutes warming himself up, then he dialled John’s number, setting the phone to loudspeaker and putting it beside his head.

“Hey, Sherlock? What’s up?” Came John’s voice. 

“Hello, John.” Sherlock breathed.


	5. On the Phone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mushy love declarations get Sherlock off.

“Sherlock, are you…?” John sounded startled, but Sherlock could hear the husk of arousal beneath that.

Sherlock licked his lips. “Yes.” He admitted. “Where are you?”

“In the middle of a museum. Hang on, let me find a loo.”

Sherlock smiled. He could hear the excitement in John’s voice, could guess at the little thrill he felt at the possibility of getting caught. 

“Do you think about me?” Sherlock asked. “When you touch yourself.”

Sherlock heard a door slam on John’s end of the phone. “Of course, yes.” John said. “All the time.” After a moment’s hesitation, he added, “Is that all right?”

“Perfectly fine.” Sherlock breathed. “I like it better than you thinking about anyone else.” John had belonged to others for far too long. Now he was Sherlock’s, only Sherlock’s. The brief flare of possessiveness mingled with his arousal, making him gasp. He turned up the intensity of the vibrator a notch.

“No, never anyone else.” John was saying in a low voice. “Only you. Nobody else could ever compare.”

Sherlock let out a ragged gasp. “Why’s that? Tell me, tell me-”

John, bless him, picked up on Sherlock’s meaning without him having to say it directly. “Because. I love you, Sherlock Holmes. I love you like I have never loved anyone else. Never have, and never will again. What we are...nothing could top this.”

Sherlock screwed his eyes shut and came with a whimper, clamping his thighs together as his body trembled and shook. 

When it was over, he felt limp and wrung out, and the bed was far too large and empty. “Thank you.” He whispered into the phone beside him. “Could you- Can you come back?”

“Of course. Let me just-” John was panting heavily too, and after a brief moment of silence he groaned low in his throat. “Fuck, Sherlock.” He sighed. The knowledge of what had just happened hit Sherlock belatedly, and a thrill of arousal ran through him at the thought of John there on the other end of the line, touching himself, thinking of Sherlock and making himself come, all while Sherlock listened in. 

“I’m heading back to the hotel now. Should take me about thirty minutes. See you soon, love.” John said, sounding back to his usual self.

“Wait.” Sherlock said quickly. “Don’t hang up.” He didn’t want to be left alone in this hotel room, not even knowing John would be there with him in person in half an hour. “Talk to me?”

“All right.” John said, in that fond, indulgent tone of his. “I saw about three-quarters of the museum before you called. My favourite so far was this collection of clay figurines, they…”

John chatted to Sherlock all the way back to the hotel, breaking his stream-of-consciousness chatter only to give directions to the taxi. He kept it up until he was outside the room door, and Sherlock could hear John’s voice in stereo, a muffled preview from outside, then again a half-second later from his phone. Sherlock hung up as he heard the door swing open.

Sherlock heard John’s sharp intake of breath from behind him when he rounded the corner and was finally able to see Sherlock. Sherlock was still lying naked atop the sheets, and Sherlock recalled now that this would be John’s first time seeing him completely naked in person. He squirmed uncomfortably, wavering between rolling over to face John and pulling the sheet over himself. 

“Well hello there, gorgeous.” John said warmly. Sherlock heard the soft thud of John’s day bag hitting the floor. Then he felt the bed dip, and John spooned up behind him, wrapping his arms around Sherlock’s waist and pressing a kiss to the back of Sherlock’s neck. 

“Hello, John.” Sherlock said, taking John’s hand. John pulled the covers over them, and Sherlock snuggled close, letting out a small, triumphant grin. This experiment hadn’t gone exactly as planned, but Sherlock was pretty sure he could call this one a rousing success.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know if I'd call this phone sex... this is so ridiculously mushy.


	6. Hold On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yet again, Sherlock's trying something new.

Sherlock and John tried the phone sex a few more times over the next month. Unlike John’s morning handjobs, which Sherlock relished in providing, this happened only about once a week or so. Even heightened from its usual almost nothing, Sherlock’s libido was lower than average. So about once a week, Sherlock would declare that he’d like a wank, and so John would shut himself in the bathroom and Sherlock would give him a call. Afterwards, John would come out to cuddle Sherlock, because Sherlock always hated to be alone after his orgasms. 

It was one of the first few really warm spring days, and Sherlock was feeling especially comfortable and lazy. The warm Italian sunshine streamed through the gauzy curtains, and John was curled up beside him, tapping away on his phone.

“There’s an Ethiopian restaurant near to here that’s supposed to be good.” John said, glancing down at Sherlock. “Want to have dinner there?”

Sherlock blinked slowly, then hummed in acknowledgement. “Good idea.” He agreed. “Take a break from all the pasta.” He rolled onto his back, stretching. “Think I might have a wank today.” He added, glancing up at John. 

John smiled down at him. He bent down, smoothing the curls away from Sherlock’s forehead to kiss him there. “Sure thing, love.” He began to get up, but a hand shot out to stop him, closing around his wrist.

“You could stay?” Sherlock ventured. “And...watch. Maybe touch. I’ll let you know.”

“Of course.” John said warmly, sitting back down on the bed. 

Sherlock hopped up and hunted around for his vibrator before stripping off perfunctorily and lying down on the bed. 

Blushing at John’s vaguely awestruck expression, Sherlock turned the vibrator on at a low setting and held it against himself.

“Fuck, Sherlock, you’re-” John groaned, palming himself through his pants.

Sherlock’s eyes tracked the movement of John’s hand with interest. “If you’d like to take of the rest your clothes,” he suggested casually, “I think I’d quite like that.”

John was dressed only in a form-hugging white shirt and boxers, and when those were gone he was left in all his naked glory, kneeling at the end of the bed with his hand around his cock. Sherlock groaned, eyes roaming over John’s muscled form. He turned the vibrator up a notch, the new intensity making him moan.

“Come here and kiss me.” He panted. John crawled over, dipping his head down to press a sweet kiss against Sherlock’s lips.

Sherlock smiled up at John, eyes shining. “I love you.” He declared delightedly.

John smiled back. “I love you too.” 

Sherlock sat up abruptly. “Come here, I want your arms around me.” In a moment he had John arranged to his satisfaction, sitting against the headboard while Sherlock sat between his legs, reclining against his chest with his head on John’s shoulder. 

Sherlock grabbed the vibrator from where he’d dropped it on the bed, returning it between his legs. He sighed, wriggling against John.

“Oh, that’s good. I was going to have you hold the vibrator, you know. It’s unfortunate your arms are so short.”

“Git.” John murmured into Sherlock’s ear, but his tone lacked bite, and was softened further a moment later by the kiss he pressed against Sherlock’s cheek.

John continued to pepper kisses along Sherlock’s neck and shoulders, holding on to him as he moaned and squirmed. It didn’t take Sherlock long to reach his peak, his legs falling open as he came with a shuddering, half-voiced gasp. 

“Fuck, that was gorgeous. God, Sherlock. Amazing.” John held on tight to Sherlock, and Sherlock snuggled back against him, panting lightly.

After a few moments, Sherlock turned over, kissing John. He took hold of John’s hard cock, stroking him with a by-now expert hand, until John came as well, moaning and spurting messily between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, they both come while they're in the same room together. I'm thinking this fic, and along with it, this series, will end soon. I know I've said this before and then changed my mind... I just can't let go of them! But I really do have plans to end it, this time. I think we've followed these boys far enough to know that they'll be safe and happy together


	7. Going Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock cuts their trip short.

Spring passed in a blur of towns and cities. It felt almost like they could keep exploring the ancient continent forever, but as they began to make plans to move on, Sherlock came to a realisation.

“I think we should go home.” Sherlock said.

John blinked in surprise. “Really? We haven’t seen even half of what we planned to.”

“Well,” said Sherlock, picking his words carefully, “there’s no reason we have to do it all at once. After all, we have the rest of our lives.”

John stared at Sherlock for a long moment, then broke out into a wide grin. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. That we do.”

Sherlock smiled back. “Besides,” he added, “I’m sure Scotland Yard is an absolute mess without us.”

Thus decided, they took a train back to London. Mrs Hudson met them at the door, fluttering delightedly about them.

“Oh, Sherlock, John! Look at the two of you, brown as nuts! I have missed your faces, it’s been too quiet around here. Not that I’ll be happy if you blow up the flat again, mind you. But oh, it’s so good to see you happy again, after all that awfulness.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, but hugged Mrs Hudson good-naturedly. “It’s good to see you too, Hudders.”

“I’ve fixed up your room, a little.” She added. “I thought it’d be a nice little surprise. Your mother helped, lovely woman. Not to worry, we haven’t disturbed any of your things.”

Sherlock shot John a horrified look, though whether it was over Mrs Hudson colluding with his mother, or the thought of his room assaulted by Mrs Hudson’s kitschy aesthetic, John didn’t know. Most likely it was both. They headed down the hallway to Sherlock’s room to inspect the damage.

Sherlock stopped short at the door, blinking in surprise. The room had been repapered, now a soothing blue and purple, and he could see that his bed had been replaced, though it was similar, a solid hardwood frame. As promised, all this things remained in place, his periodic table and his bee drawing, and everything else all more or less where he’d left them. 

It made Sherlock wonder how much Mrs Hudson had known. For all that she seemed like a harmless, scatterbrained old lady, she was unnervingly sharp at times. The room was changed just enough that Sherlock thought he could sleep in it without memories invading his thoughts, the bed changed so that he would not have to lie in the bed where he’d been repeatedly violated. It should have been humiliating, to think that she knew, but somehow he only felt comforted to know that she was looking out for him.

“It’s acceptable,” was all the praise Sherlock could bring himself to voice, but Mrs Hudson understood him all the same, patting his cheek before taking herself downstairs to let them rest.

Sherlock stripped, crawling into bed with a sigh. John followed him soon after, cuddling up close. 

“It’s been a long time, hm?” John murmured.

Sherlock yawned, too tired to deduce John’s meaning. “Long time what?”

“Since we’ve both lived here together. It’s been what, four years?” 

Sherlock smiled. “About there. Longer than we spent here together, which was only about a year and a half.” 

“And yet it feels like home again, so quickly.”

Sherlock smiled against John’s collar bone. “I always feel at home when I’m with you.”

After a stunned bit of silence, John laughed. “That was cheesy.” 

Sherlock rolled away, pouting. “I was being romantic. See if I ever try that again.”

“No, no.” John said, but he was still laughing. “It was good. I liked it.” 

Sherlock barely lasted a few seconds before he was shuffling back into John’s arms. “You’re a horrible man.”

“I’m a horrible man who loves you.” 

Sherlock flushed, and smiled. “I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand we're done! Thank you everyone who's read this series, and double thank you if you're one of those who've followed along and commented and kept me motivated even through a six-month hiatus.


End file.
